


swan song

by slainism



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Gen, Multi, if anyone wants something in particular then i'll be happy to write it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slainism/pseuds/slainism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of oneshots</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. productivity is a sound coping technique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> touka reflects on café troubles.

"Yomo-san, could you move that for me?" Touka briskly points towards the couch located to the left of the cafe. It's an old thing, purchased cheap from a street market. The man who had sold it to her seemed weirdly enthusiastic about it, entertaining her with stories of its longevity that she'd been too busy to care about. But it was beautiful and had the kind of flair she's been searching for, the quaint, old-world style she wanted to emulate at :re.

She spent a while sitting against it, a needle and a thread in hand, trying to fix all the tears and slashes the furniture had suffered over the years. The process was a frustrating one, as well as time-consuming, but the result was good. After she finally managed to rectify the sofa, she had stood back to admire her handiwork, and called for Yomo to admire it too.

"Left or right?"

"The left," she said after some deliberation. The two of them had had their hands completely full over the last few weeks. In her time in Anteiku, she never truly appreciated how much effort had to be invested into establishing a café, how much time had be spent studying mortgages and overdraws, researching which business was better at creating signs and kettles, how to attract customers, what kind of services and commodities they should provide. Their to-do list was constantly swelling, never stopping its rapid growth. Even with her diligence, it was hard.

Yomo didn't question why she wanted to open a cafe. He didn't question why she already had such a firm view of what the cafe should look and smell and sound like. He didn't question why she suddenly sliced off the hair she'd been growing out for months. He had always been a stoic man, even before _that_ happened. But these days he was more taciturn and morose than ever, with any form of emotion from him becoming increasingly scarce.

But when the two of them began to fill out the empty books shelves together, with works of Kafka, of Sen, of long-winded, archaic books _he_ used to talk of, she noticed for the first time in a long time, his expression shift as his lips press into a hard straight line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to cece and ruby for helping me out by beta'ing this!


	2. pretence with a price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> touka indulges in yoriko's cooking.

At first, Touka is baffled.

Her mouth puckers then closes, before rushing out a quick slur of syllables which she hopes sounds like a 'no'.

"Come on," Yoriko encouraged. "You told me you love sakura mochi."

The shorter girl is sitting opposite to her, clutching a pair of disposable chopsticks in her fists. It's a weekday afternoon and the two decided to visit a local park in order to relax from studying. The pressure that accompanied exams was, understandably, taking its toll on both of them. A quick conversation revealed that no, it wasn't just Touka who was being kept awake at ridiculous hours, agonizing over dates and texts. And so it was soon decided between the two of them that they should create space in their timetable to ease their hebetude. Or rather, Yoriko decided and Touka couldn't find it in herself to refuse. Just like she can't find it in herself to reject Yoriko's sakura mochi when she's obviously so excited about her trying it.

Looking away from Yoriko, Touka eyes the sakura mochi with apprehension. It's a vile thing, as all human food is. The damp surface of it glistens in the light and the stench it exudes is so repugnant that Touka can't find an adjective to describe it.

She wrinkles her nose involuntarily, but subtly so Yoriko doesn't notice, trying to get the stink out from her mind, albeit unsuccessfully . It wasn't that she hadn't been prepared for this - god knows, she'd spent enough time at home and at Anteiku practising this kind of thing. Back when she first decided to integrate into human life, satiating her tender stomach with food before unceremoniously puking it up in the toilet had become routine. The pretence had been honed and perfected long before she met Yoriko. It was just...she'd rather not spend her very limited down time with a sore stomach and a foul taste in her mouth.

“Touka chan?” Yoriko tilts her head to the side, snapping Touka out of her daze.

"It's not..." Touka falters before picking herself back up. "It's not...fair for me to be taking your food..."

"If that's what you're worried about, Touka chan..." Yoriko produces another box from her backpack from her backpack. “I bought something for myself too.”

_For goodness sake._

"...So you made this just for me?" Touka asks weakly, trying to muster up a smile. Vaguely, she thinks back to years and years ago, a time which rarely crossed her mind (out of choice rather than coincidence). Specifically, it was of her father looking crumpled and queesy, the sweat smothering his forehead causing his fringe to stick and clump. Next to him had been a tin bowl, polished of its sickening contents. The woman who lived next to them had delivered it. She had never been able to understand the weird sense of obligation he had about eating it.

However, sitting here with her best friend, she begins to feel some empathy for her father's efforts.

Then she presses her lips together grimly as the clenched palm of her hand closes the distance between the two of them. The plastic sits patiently on the table, with the confectioneries in it. Taking a deep breath, she takes the chopsticks from Yoriko's palm and rolls them around in her own. They're cute ones, adorned with a fine red paint with silver embroidery around the base. Then with a sigh, she grips the sakura mochi between the chopsticks and, with Yoshimura's advice on her mind, brings it to her lips. The cloying flavour is only at her tongue for a brief second before she swallows it whole, making chewing motions with her jaw and smacking her lips after for full effect.

"How was it?" Yoriko asks timidly.

"Delicious, of course. Just to be expected from a chef in training," she is lying through her teeth of course. Her obvious dishonesty seems almost tangible around them, but Yoriko looks content with her words. “Don't spoil me too often though,” she adds. “You'll make me feel guilty.” Yoriko nods and the two quickly shift back to idle conversation.

And the next day, when Yoriko has bought in even more food with a sheepish smile, Touka isn't even surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick oneshot! it's been quite a while since i updated this compilation so this seemed appropriate. thank you to despairqueen for beta'ing this!


	3. ominous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you combine yomo and kaneki's first names to make a ship tag, you get "renken" and i think about that a lot.

Winter had long melted into summer, and with its abrupt disappearance came a warmth that had been previously unimaginable in winter's harsher months. The walls of Anteiku, which used to be dusted with a fine coating of frost, now had small plants and mosses woven into the chasms of the bricks. The roads which were previously deserted were now saturated with the slow drawl of common folk. Seasons change, and the city of Tokyo did too. 

People also change, Yomo thought to himself.

The boy's hair had ripened to an off white, muscles had blossomed from where there had only been fat and bone, and his face had slimmed off, thinner and sharper.

The rare times he saw Ken face to face left him...not puzzled – that wasn't the right word. It was more of...a disquiet. A lingering disquiet.

Yomo didn't know how many ghouls had wondered down the same path as Kaneki, though he did know where that path usually ended

-  
later  
-

 

The two of them have developed something of an understanding between one and other, Kaneki likes to think. Somewhere along the line, although neither can remember quite when, the times they met with each other became less words and more touch. Not that there ever had been many words in the first place, but Kaneki couldn't find room to complain. Company does tend to ease loneliness after all, is what he thinks.

-

After the fourth time Kaneki encounters Yomo in this way, he realises the taste of the older man's lips does little to soothe the sapor of ghoul flesh on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my rad bro/friend, elcin, for beta'ing (brota'ing?!?) this!
> 
> also my first prompt yeyeye! thank you to MaedaYoshiaki777;
> 
> "Can you please please make a Yomo Renji/Kaneki Ken?"
> 
> i hope everyone enjoyed this, and that i wasn't too out of character.


	4. lingering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sasaki learns about himself. or something (can you tell i'm getting lazier with descriptions).

There's a man in his mind. He looks the spitting image of him, except his hair is bleached white entirely and his eyes burn with a magnitude that blinds him if he looks to closely. A wreathe of torn poppies sits on his head, the deep red a violent wound against the delicate white.

The chains plastered around his wrists are understanding and the nooses around both their necks are fear.

_What are you---- if not me, who?_

_Where are you---- if not here, where?_

Words composed of syllabels composed of consonants and nouns continue to revolve around this head but their meaning is diluted now, and insignificant.

_I've lost myself._

_No, I've just found myself._

The man is still there. The chains are not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is...very short h-ha...
> 
> *shakes fist at exams*


End file.
